Ella Fitzgerald is complicated

I was listening to Ella Fitzgerald today. I love Ella Fitzgerald. That seems a pretty straightforward statement, does it not? But when I start thinking about the reasons why I love her, the emotional imprint I have that I call "Ella Fitzgerald" turns out to be much more complex than "simply" a reaction to musical genius.

I love, of course, all of the things that are there for anyone to love about Ella; the things that are found in the objective experience of her music. I love the richness of her tone. I love her sureness with her vocal "instrument" that allows her to leave the structure of language behind and move into the more freeform vocal impressionism of "scatting" while still maintaining a firm musical footing. I love the intelligence of her phrasing. I love that she can smile with her voice.

Then there is everything that was going on in my life when I first met Ella. I was 21, newly married to Judy, and working part time in a predominantly gay coffee shop, where I was challenged over and over again to defend my sexuality. "You are so totally gay," Damien said to me one day. "My wife would beg to differ," I retorted. "Oh yeah?" he challenged, a gleam in his eye. "What would you do if I took you into the back room and started to..." He whispered in my ear. I swallowed, trying hard to keep the image out of my mind. "Well, I'd probably stop you, of course!" I responded heatedly. "Probably?" he asked with a raised eyebrow and a grin. I sputtered and kept on mopping the floor, chagrined.

It was Paul, though, who I wanted desperately to work shifts with. Paul with the easy smile, beautiful skin, and a taste for music well beyond his years. Working with Paul was sonic heaven. Paul knew all the ladies, and I grew to know them too. Billie Holiday, Marlene Dietrich, Maria Callas; all were from a foreign land for a boy from the suburbs raised on easy listening and then moving on to rock, punk, and alternative. It was Ella I loved best though, and even today my feelings for her are tied inextricably and inexplicably and oh-so-sweetly to unfulfilled yearnings for a young man named Paul who had a taste for older men when I was not one, a young man who I wanted when I could not want young men, who wanted me not at all and who was therefore safe to want, who maintains a perfect smile and complexion forever in my mind.

Ah Ella!